Surrender: Bali's Waves
Updated: Oct 10, 2023
I have thought about my eventual death a lot, and I had hoped it would come by drowning. The death-book (or "living will") that I began writing at 22 reads something like this:
"If I die in any other way besides drowning, please throw my remains into an ocean somewhere. No need for cremation or dressing me up - just toss me in."
Two days ago was the nearest I've been to this liquid conclusion.
I went out in the late morning to surf off the coast of Uluwatu in Bali, Indonesia. The break was called The Impossibles - between Padang Padang and Bingin beaches - and the winds were building some particularly righteous waves today. The forecast called for three-meter swells with off-shore winds. I had never surfed three-meters before - I had only ever measured waves in feet, mostly catching 3-5ft waves back in Florida, California and Hawaii.
I grabbed the 6ft surfboard I was borrowing from my rental house and latched it to some sketchy board rack that I jerry-rigged onto my rental motor scooter. I only owned the leash, which I had bought brand-new last week. When I bought this new leash, I attempted to haggle the price down from $32, but the local seller looked me in the eyes and said "Do you have any idea how important this piece of equipment is? You'll want the best you can get." I had been surfing on-and-off for five years at this point, so I agreed and paid full price. He knew what he was talking about.
I parked my bike at a warung where I planned to return for lunch. I remember paying the measly parking fee and having momentary thoughts of scarcity, trying to save money and skip the fee. It was followed by another thought -
The money doesn't matter, I'll die some day. I could even die in the surf today.
I walked my board down a narrow path of steep stone steps. I was halted by an opening in the trees that revealed the horizon. Between frangipani, palm and other tropical canopies, I watched in awe as a barrel wave stretching the entire coastline began to crash. Like cascading piano keys, the water rolled on and on from south to north. I tried to record a video on my phone, but it never turns out as nice as the real thing (see below). I laughed at my attempt to capture beauty. I sprung down the stair.
At the bottom, a tall European man applied face sunscreen as he stood on the tiny sun-lit beach walled in by towering limestone. The high tide was sending thin layers of water all the way up to the base of the wall - we chose to stow our packs up on sharp ledges. I asked the man for advice on which way to paddle out and he offered the information willingly before taking off towards the reef. I sat and meditated for a minute or so, taking long breaths and centering my mind. Another high-reaching wash sucked my board down the sand and I quickly opened my eyes to rescue it. I allowed the interruption to pull me away entirely. I began a long paddle out through whitewash over a shallow reef.
Forty minutes later, I was in the clear and far out from the coast line. Lower tide now, I had to keep away from the reef break. My shoulders were exhausted and my eyes stung from saltwater. When I tried to push my body up from the board, my left elbow was in great pain. Worst of all, the other surfers were nowhere near me. They were at least a hundred yards south or north, navigating swells and catching waves. I sighed and pushed towards them - surely they were in the right spot.
About an hour in, I realized that I never looked back when I began paddling. I have no idea which part of the coast I departed from - where my phone, wallet and keys were left. Now the coastline looks like a vague pattern of limestone cliffs, villas and resorts.
Fuck, that's not good. Eh, I'll worry about it later when I'm coming back in.
Paddling south, finally I am beginning to see the facial features of nearby surfers. Still no idea where my takeoff point began. In all that time, only one opportune wave came my way, but I wasn't ready so I let it pass. That wave made me think, though -
If I can wait for a good wave like THAT ONE here, why keep paddling closer to the other surfers?
I stopped my push and waited another twenty minutes, admiring the sea. When I grew bored, I let an unintentional prayer fall from my lips.
Lord Vishnu, please send me a good wave that will take me home.
When I said home, I meant to where I began this surf day and left my pack. I don't know jack-shit about Lord Vishnu beyond hearsay that he's a powerful Hindu god connected to the water. Whether this played into the following events or not, I ought to take better care about who I pray to and what I pray for.
I noticed other surfers entering the water and paddling towards me. This was surely a good sign. I kept edging closer towards the shore, desiring a wave that would be just right for me. Suddenly, I turned around to find a 9 or 10 foot wave barreling towards me, beginning its descent. I was not in the place to ride it. I attempted to duck dive but I was nowhere deep enough.
Complete loss of control, the board swept from under me, my body flung in every direction. My eyes were shut closed to save my contacts from falling out. I was a ragdoll in darkness for ten or fifteen seconds. I burst out of the surface for air and pulled my board towards me again. My body is panicking. Another wave is coming.
How? I thought I was in the safe zone?
I turned my board towards shore, hoping that the wave would spare me and let me ride whitewater towards the beach. I didn't want to be here anymore. But with great force I was sucked backwards and flipped, board tossed away once again. My limbs were whipped around and I felt the board smack the back of my leg. The beating went on for another ten seconds and I could feel the pressure in my lungs. I spun and spun, and while my breath couldn't flow, my thoughts did.
What if this darkness never ends? I could hit my head on the reef or the board and never wake up. I should try to cover my head with my arms.
Surely this did not help my nervous system. When I emerged again, surprised that my body knew which way was up, I was really gasping. I saw another wave approach, and this was perhaps the largest yet. I ditched the board, took a half-gasp of air, and dove down to escape the pull. But I could not escape - another round of battering. Finally, I heard my clearest and most memorable thought emerge.
I have no more air left. I am going to start taking in sea water. Here we go.
I reached my hands high to buoy myself upward. The water entered my nose but wouldn't willingly flow down my clenched throat. I had no more thoughts, just saltwater.
I bobbed up and gulped a mixture of air and water. My eyes shot the horizon. There were no more waves. My body was dramatically shivering, somehow the board was in one piece, still attached to my leash, still attached to my ankle. My arms clasped around the floating wood. I stared off, my lungs on fire. A nearby surfer further out in the safe zone waved at me and signaled to ask if I was OK. It took me a moment to respond, so he repeated his motion. I waved back with an OK sign. He turned away and paddled off and I did the same in the opposite direction.
When I neared a shoreline, my body was painfully cold. Even the small waves scared me now as I hovered 8 inches over a shallow reef at low tide. One of the small waves sucked me back and down towards the reef, snapping a fin off of my board and spitting me out. I held on for dear life and body-surfed my first wave of the day onto the shore of Bingin beach, filled with gorgeous women, beginner surf classes, and leisurely families. I crawled onto the sand and sat with my head in my hands for some time. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. The sandy earth beneath me was solid. A man walked up.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a German accent. I told him what happened. He pointed out that I lost a fin. I asked him where the beach that I departed from was located - the Impossibles beach. His eyebrows raised and pointed south. "All the way down there, around that cliff. You're pretty far away. You shouldn't take on big waves like this until you're ready for it - you have to grow gradually...I'm glad you're alive."
Me too.
Every step on the coarse sand carried a great magnitude of wealth. After navigating under caves and around cliffsides for some time, I made it back to my pack. When I climbed the steps to return to the warung, I asked the women in charge if I could buy lunch.
"All we have left is egg." they said in Indonesian. "That's fine," I said as I motioned over my empty stomach, "I will eat anything."
When the woman set down the plate, I thanked her sincerely. I took each bite with immense presence. I savored the meal. It was the best thing I ever ate. It was a fried egg laid overtop of instant ramen noodles. I drank cold jasmine tea with it. Again, I wanted to cry.
I shakily boarded my bike and rode five minutes to a nearby day-spa and gym. The entry fee was $15 and I didn't think twice about it. I figured I could workout and ice bath and sauna this scary, shaken up body and let go of the weight. While I was working out, a British man walked over to ask if I wanted to participate in a breathwork group he was leading in a few minutes. I shrugged and sat in a circle of foreigners with beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. Saltwater continued to trickle out of my lungs and nose. He led us through a Wim Hof session. It felt like a lucky coincidence - practicing a deep range of breaths so soon after an experience where I thought I wouldn't breathe again.
Whoever was watching over me, thank you. And Lord Vishnu, I apologize for my selfish prayer to a higher power whom I know nothing about. Thank you for this opportunity to surrender. When I surf again, in good time, I will be cautious.
UPDATE: One week later, I tried surfing again at Padang Padang. When I finally got on a 5ft wave, I stood up but my mind froze in fear. I stood high, overlooking the beach. But I couldn't drop in. I jumped off the board. The wave wash threw my feet downward, mildly scuffing the rocky floor. My body was shaking again, my breaths shallow. I see now that this healing will take time.
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